Read Online The Facts of Life and Death by Belinda Bauer - Free Book Online
Authors: Belinda Bauer
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bit of exaggeration, but she had been surprised by just how tall their tales could be. In the first week’s diaries alone, Shawn had tamed ‘a wild stallyon’ and Connor Nuttall had done a triple somersault in gym – which he’d then painfully failed to repeat for a rapt crowd of children on the hard tarmac of the playground.
Miss Sharpe still had a pile of this week’s books to go through, but already Noah Jones had swum all the way from Appledore to Instow, and Essie Littlejohn had found an adder. It was half dead this week, but Miss Sharpe suspected that next week it could well be fully alive and – if nothing was said – the week after that Essie might be charming it out of a basket with a flute.
She understood why they did it. The more outlandish the lies, the more attention the children seemed to glean from their classmates.
Miss Sharpe knew that it was probably her duty to caution the children against embellishments, but she was reluctant to be too dictatorial because the lies were so much more entertaining than reality. Most of the diaries were plain boring. There were endless Playstation sessions, karate clubs, homework, and doing each other’s hair. David Leather seemed to practise the violin every spare minute of the day, and if Miss Sharpe heard one more time about there being no ponies in Ruby Trick’s paddock, she’d scream. Even Jordan had said
‘Again?
’ and made a loud snoring sound, which had made the other children laugh.
She thought of how Ruby had tried to show off to her father in the car tonight. She understood that little-girl need to have her daddy’s approval – even about something as mundane as a diary. She’d spent her own formative years trying to catch her father’s eye.
But after her mother had died, nothing had ever really caught his eye again.
Miss Sharpe wondered where the scars on Mr Trick’s face had come from – ugly, pale arcs that distorted his eye and his dark brow. He wasn’t what she’d have expected for the father of Ruby Trick, with her red hair and freckles. For her own amusement, she’d started to give herself points out of ten for predicting what the parents of each child in her class would look like. She hadn’t met them all yet, and wasn’t terribly good at the game. She’d only have given herself a two for Mr Trick. Unlike David Leather’s parents, who were perfect tens.
They
had come to school about David being bullied, and could barely fit through the classroom door. They were nice people, but as the parents of a victimized child they were ineffectual – too kind and too comfortable with their own girths to understand that what their enormous son needed to survive school was boot camp, not violin lessons.
Children were sponges – sucking up whatever was around them without any effort or intention, be it prejudices or food. They thought what their parents thought, said what they said, did what they did.
Ate what they ate.
By that reckoning, David Leather was doomed.
But Ruby Trick wasn’t. Not yet. Her red hair and dirty socks made her an outsider, but Miss Sharpe understood
that
only too well.
Miss Sharpe finished her wine. Maybe she could give Ruby the support and encouragement
she’d
missed out on? Maybe she could make a difference to her life. Be remembered fondly. Get a card when she was sixty saying
I owe it all to you.
Wasn’t that what being a teacher was all about?
Miss Sharpe sighed and scooped Harvey on to her lap. His ears were so soft they were almost imaginary, and she murmured gently against his silken head, ‘Clever boy, Harvey.’
She giggled at her own tipsy foolishness. Harvey was a rabbit. All he did all day was hop, eat and poo – none of which really required a motivational speech from her!
Ruby Trick, on the other hand, was an isolated child without discernible talents, assets or friends.
That
chubby little sponge needed all the help she could get.
12
ALL WEEK LONG , Ruby watched her father like a dog
Miss Sharpe still had a pile of this week’s books to go through, but already Noah Jones had swum all the way from Appledore to Instow, and Essie Littlejohn had found an adder. It was half dead this week, but Miss Sharpe suspected that next week it could well be fully alive and – if nothing was said – the week after that Essie might be charming it out of a basket with a flute.
She understood why they did it. The more outlandish the lies, the more attention the children seemed to glean from their classmates.
Miss Sharpe knew that it was probably her duty to caution the children against embellishments, but she was reluctant to be too dictatorial because the lies were so much more entertaining than reality. Most of the diaries were plain boring. There were endless Playstation sessions, karate clubs, homework, and doing each other’s hair. David Leather seemed to practise the violin every spare minute of the day, and if Miss Sharpe heard one more time about there being no ponies in Ruby Trick’s paddock, she’d scream. Even Jordan had said
‘Again?
’ and made a loud snoring sound, which had made the other children laugh.
She thought of how Ruby had tried to show off to her father in the car tonight. She understood that little-girl need to have her daddy’s approval – even about something as mundane as a diary. She’d spent her own formative years trying to catch her father’s eye.
But after her mother had died, nothing had ever really caught his eye again.
Miss Sharpe wondered where the scars on Mr Trick’s face had come from – ugly, pale arcs that distorted his eye and his dark brow. He wasn’t what she’d have expected for the father of Ruby Trick, with her red hair and freckles. For her own amusement, she’d started to give herself points out of ten for predicting what the parents of each child in her class would look like. She hadn’t met them all yet, and wasn’t terribly good at the game. She’d only have given herself a two for Mr Trick. Unlike David Leather’s parents, who were perfect tens.
They
had come to school about David being bullied, and could barely fit through the classroom door. They were nice people, but as the parents of a victimized child they were ineffectual – too kind and too comfortable with their own girths to understand that what their enormous son needed to survive school was boot camp, not violin lessons.
Children were sponges – sucking up whatever was around them without any effort or intention, be it prejudices or food. They thought what their parents thought, said what they said, did what they did.
Ate what they ate.
By that reckoning, David Leather was doomed.
But Ruby Trick wasn’t. Not yet. Her red hair and dirty socks made her an outsider, but Miss Sharpe understood
that
only too well.
Miss Sharpe finished her wine. Maybe she could give Ruby the support and encouragement
she’d
missed out on? Maybe she could make a difference to her life. Be remembered fondly. Get a card when she was sixty saying
I owe it all to you.
Wasn’t that what being a teacher was all about?
Miss Sharpe sighed and scooped Harvey on to her lap. His ears were so soft they were almost imaginary, and she murmured gently against his silken head, ‘Clever boy, Harvey.’
She giggled at her own tipsy foolishness. Harvey was a rabbit. All he did all day was hop, eat and poo – none of which really required a motivational speech from her!
Ruby Trick, on the other hand, was an isolated child without discernible talents, assets or friends.
That
chubby little sponge needed all the help she could get.
12
ALL WEEK LONG , Ruby watched her father like a dog
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